Peeta's Request
by HR always live on
Summary: My first Hunger Games fic, a one shot, set during Catching Fire in the arena. Katniss and Peeta are on the beach, alone for once. Peeta needs a favour. Read and find out!


**My first Hunger Games fic, set during the Catching fire arena. A one shot, and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.**

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><p>Katniss and Peeta were sitting on the beach, alone for a few precious minutes. Well, alone if they chose to forget about the dozens of cameras watching their every move. Peeta sighed heavily and looked up at the artificial sky. Even though they knew it to be fake, it was supremely beautiful, maybe twenty minutes until sunset.<p>

"I need to ask you something," he said quietly. She tore her eyes away from the sky and looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "I need you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked quietly.

"I need your word that you'll do it."

"Anything," she said. It was the least she could do considering either one of them or both of them might be dead by nightfall. Odds were, they'd both be being buried within a week, so what did one favour matter?

"I want it to be you," he said, eyes boring into hers, trying to get her to understand. "I'm not going to survive it this time. I want it to be you Katniss."

She watched him in confusion for a moment. She didn't understand. And then she did. The clarity rushed over her in one crystal clear moment that left her ears ringing. "No. I won't do it. No!"

"Please," he said, eyes wide. "I am going to die. We both know that. I don't want it to be by the hands of a stranger. I don't want the last thing I see to be my murderer, my enemy. I want to die with you." He took up her hand and squeezed gently. "You're meant to go on," he said. "You're meant for so much more than this. I know in my heart, that you are not going to die in this arena. Which means I will. I don't have a lot of choices left, and I'd like to die by the hand of my best friend."

"You can't be serious," she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Please, you can't be."

"Katniss, I want your face to be the last thing I see," Peeta said firmly. Looking into his eyes, she knew he was serious. God, he actually wanted her to do it? To murder him in cold blood? The things this damned arena could do to your head.

"How would I be able to live with myself?" she asked. "Knowing what I'd done?"

"Think of it as suicide," he said. "I just need a little help. I'm not… brave enough or courageous enough to use a knife on myself or hang myself. If I were, I wouldn't be asking you for help."

"You've thought about it," she said in cold realisation. "You've really thought this through."

"Of course I have," he said. "And that's the difference between us. I know you, and in your mind you won't accept that this will kill you. In your mind, you're getting out of here alive."

She couldn't argue with that, because he was right. She hadn't given a lot of thought to how she would die, which over the last eighteen months was shocking. She should have at least considered it. Other than an abstract notion of who would look after her mother and Prim if she failed to live, she hadn't given it a lot of thought. Peeta was silent, knowing she was thinking about it.

"I don't know how," she said finally, when the silence became overwhelming.

"Of course you do," he replied, a smile hovering on her lips. "How many have you killed? You know how to do it Katniss."

"I don't know how to do it in the least painful way," she edited. "To kill you… easily."

"Dying is painful," he said quietly. "That's the way it is. A knife. You've got one, right?"

She did. She had a hunting knife on her belt which was more than eight inches long. It would be more than adequate to do the job. She couldn't believe she was thinking in such a cold blooded way. Peeta was her best friend, and she was thinking about sticking a knife into him? Murdering him? She'd killed others before of course, but this was different and so much more personal.

Katniss took the knife out of its sheath and ran her finger along the dull edge of the blade. Both of their eyes were magnetised to it, the metal glinting as the sun lowered in the sky. It almost looked beautiful in this light, sparkling in the evening light. It didn't look like the murder weapon it was.

"I can't do it, Peeta," she said finally, putting the knife back into it's sheath on her belt. "I don't have it in me." She rested her head against his chest and he put an arm around her by reflex.

"Okay," he said heavily. "I know I'm asking a lot from you."

"Peeta, would you do it to me?" she said. "If I asked you, would you kill me?"

"If I really believed its what you wanted, then yes," he said. "But suicide is never an option for you. You've got too much fight in you. You have this unshrinking will to survive. I love that about you."

She felt a shiver go through her as the daylight dimmed. "I'll think about it," she said. "I… I'm not going to promise."

"Fair enough," he said. He turned towards her and pressed an unexpected kiss to her lips. She frowned back from him for a moment, but then she realised that he needed this reassurance. He needed this touch to keep him anchored to the world. She put a smile on her face and leant into him, kissing him with all her heart.

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><p><strong>RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman. Let me know what you think of the fic, thank you.<strong>


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